Unseasonal
by Escagirl
Summary: "And what do you turn into?" "Abominable Snowman," Stiles dead-panned. "But it's more of a seasonal thing." Except it kind of wasn't seasonal at all. A drabbly series about how Mama and Papa Stilinski met and had Stiles. And how Stiles kicked butt.
1. Chapter 1

**Unseasonal**

by EscagirlUK

Disclaimer: I own neither Teen Wolf nor the Avengers Universe. This is purely for fun.

John Stilinski married Lokke Lawson within a year of meeting the green-eyed, raven-haired beauty. He'd been immediately smitten by her thick Norwegian accent, the sparkle of mischief in her eyes, and her sense of humour.

The proposal had been proceeded by a month long prank war between the pair; eventually ending when John proposed while covered head-to-toe in flour paste and feathers. Their wedding album ended up full of photos of the bride, groom, and guests covered in cream and frosting; the wedding cake had _mysteriously_ exploded.

The Stilinski family moved to Beacon Hills a year later, in January; wanting to be settled before the birth of their first child.

Glapsviðr Stilinski was born at home on the first of April, during the middle of a freak snowstorm. He was born with blood red eyes and bright blue skin, his mother showing the same traits. They were attended only by John, who had long learned the truth of his wife; that she was really the Norse Trickster God, Loki, in female form.

Until the day – ten years later – Lokke had to retake her place as Loki, she maintained that Glapsviðr (for she refused to call him Stiles) was the best April Fool's she'd ever played upon the world.

Loki would always regret that he hadn't been able to stay as Lokke; hadn't been able to teach Glapsviðr more about their Jotnar heritage; had not been there to witness his son's magical awakening and teach Glapsviðr all that he knew about the seiðr arts; and most of all, had not been there to watch his son grow up.

_**Almost 7 Years Later**_

"Werewolves, hunters, kanimas; it's like a freaking Halloween party every full moon!" Matt raged. He cocked his head, looking at Stiles, and said curiously, "And what do you turn into?"

"Abominable Snowman," Stiles dead-panned. "But it's more of a seasonal thing."

Except it kind of wasn't seasonal at all.

Notes: Glapsviðr, pronounced Glapsvid or Glapsvin. Means swift in deceit, swift trickster, maddener, and wise in magical spells. Is one of the many alternate names Odin is known by. Lokke is an alternate name for Loki.


	2. Chapter 2

**Abominable**

by escagirluk

You know, I just can't take Teen Wolf seriously. It's the similarities to Big Wolf on Campus that does it. And that Disney Crack video on youtube, every time of think of Teen Wolf I think of it. Had to rewrite this so many times because it kept veering into crack.

Stiles growled furiously, pulling the large locked metal box out from under his bed. Isaac was curled up in a corner of his room, whimpering and nursing a profusely bleeding arm. Scott hovered about the curly-haired werewolf, tending to the other's slowly healing alpha-inflicted wounds. Peter hissing lowly as Lydia viciously dealt with his wounds under the watchful eyes of Jackson, who was being dealt with by Danny.

"Peter, how long before you and pups are healed enough to rescue Derek?" Stiles asked, flicking open the locks on the box.

"We should be fine to fight in a few hours, but we won't be fully healed for at least a couple of days, maybe even weeks." Peter snarled as Lydia stitched up a particularly deep wound in his chest. The resurrected werewolf kept his complaints at the rough treatment to himself.

Stiles finally opened the box, causing the werewolves to recoil at the scent now wafting into the air, and pulled out several sealed jars of some sort of paste. He tossed one to each of the humans, and Scott.

"Put that on the wounds. It's a healing paste I've been cooking up for times like this – it should work pretty damn quickly," the brunet explained, twisting open a jar himself and spreading the paste over the gash on his face and the claw-marks on his chest. Then he reached back into the box a pulled out a baseball bat; wooden, studded with chips of silver and cold iron, and soaked in a mixture of wolves-bane and holy water. Stiles amber eyes glinted as he gazed at the weapon. "We leave in an hour."

Five hours later they had hunted down the Alpha Pack to an cave in the woods. Stiles crept into the cave while his pack distracted the rival pack.

The sounds of the battle faded in Stiles ears when he saw Derek. In the time since he'd been taken by the alphas, he had – to understate it – not been treated well. The alpha hung from chains driven into the cave walls by great rivets, bloody, beaten and unconscious. On either side of him was Boyd and Erica, in even worse a state than Derek.

The Alpha Pack had threatened his dad, attacked him, hurt his pack, and worst of all stolen and harmed _his alpha_.

Stiles lost it.

Amber eyes turned red, bleeding into the whites to turn the entire eyeball red, and pale white-pink skin changed into bright blue; tribal runic markings carved into the flesh. The bat in his hands hit the cave floor with a clatter. Outside the cave, it began to snow. It was May.

He turned around, head down, hands splaying to the sides; and with long, measured steps began to walk out of the cave.

When one of the alpha's jumped at him, he caught them by their throat – without even looking – and froze them solid. The battle came to a screeching halt as both the Hale Pack and the Alpha Pack stopped in their tracks.

"Stiles?" Scott whispered, questioningly.

Stiles looked up, eyes blazing fully red. The snow fell harder, whirling about the boy. Frost slowly crept across the grass in a rough circle from his feet. Bones cracked as he rotated his wrists and neck. He took in a quick breath through his nose, eyes narrowed, and was gone.

In less than a minute all but one of the Alpha Pack were dead, frozen as macabre ice sculptures.

"_No. One. Hurts. __**My**__. __**Alpha**__._" Stiles ground out, staring into the terrified face of the weakest of the rival pack. "You. You're going to run. You're going to run far, far away from here, and _never come back_. And you're going to tell _everybody_ and _everything_ you meet that Beacon Hills is_**off limits**_. Do you understand?" The young male werewolf whimpered, and Stiles dug his slightly-clawed fingers harder into the throat in his hand. "Do. You. Understand!"

"Yes, yes, I understand!" The werewolf whimpered out, clutching at the wrist of the hand wrapped around his throat. The hand around his throat loosened, and he took off, running wildly, desperate to get anywhere but Beacon Hills.

"Stiles, you... Your _skin_, your _eyes_," Scott stuttered out. Peter inhaled sharply.

"_Jotunn_," Peter breathed out. "Ice Giant. How, your kind went extinct centuries ago?"

"Not extinct. We just didn't leave Jotunheim much, any more." Stiles turned his attention from the fleeing wolf, back to his pack. "Boyd and Erica are in the cave with Derek. Let's go break them out. We'll talk about this later."


End file.
